


Where the Heart Is

by SaintLeona



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintLeona/pseuds/SaintLeona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Corypheus defeated, Varric travels back to Kirkwall to pick up the pieces of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skybound2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybound2/gifts).



> Thank you so much to thievinghippo for the beta work. Honestly, this fic is so much better because of her.
> 
> And thanks to skybound2 for the prompts. This started as a small fic and spiraled into this monster. And I love it. I really hope you do too.

Kirkwall. It was a shithole to be sure, but to Varric Tethras, it was home.

He stood at the bow of the ship watching the city come into view. He never thought he'd be happy to see those damn chains rising out of the sea, but a week on the Waking Sea on board a leaky boat was enough to make any dwarf pine for land.

He paced the deck waiting for the boat to dock. The captain kept shooting him dirty looks as if he was wearing a track into the wood. Varric paid him no mind. All he wanted to do was kick off his boots, grab a mug of awful ale and a deck of cards, and pretend the past two years hadn’t happened. More than that, he wanted to forget about everything he had lost.

The sailors went into a frenzy, and Varric took that as his cue. He shouldered Bianca, picked up his single bag of personal belongings, and hopped onto dry land before the ship had been properly tied to the dock.

The Gallows was still dank and dirty and full of the city's homeless and destitute. If grey had a feeling, the Gallows was it. There was only one thing in Kirkwall more constant than the chains, filth, and poverty, and she waited for him at the top of the stairs.

"Welcome home, Varric."

Varric couldn't help smiling. "Hey Aveline. Good to see you." And he meant it.

She clapped his shoulder in greeting; it was as close to a hug as he would ever get from the woman, and that was just fine by him. Aveline was just a touch frightening, even after knowing her for more than a decade. "So," she said as they turned to walk toward the city proper. "Saved the world, huh?"

Varric took in the familiar sites of the city. Not much had changed. The buildings had been rebuilt, and some boasted fresh paint. But the grime of Kirkwall was nothing if not resilient and had already starting taking hold. He was willing to bet that in a few short years, the new buildings would match the old. In its own way, it brought him a strange sort of comfort. "Well, you know me," he said, holding his arms out. "Altruistic to a fault."

"You mean you couldn't make a clean escape, so you stayed."

Varric had to laugh. "Madame, you wound me! I stayed out of genuine concern."

Aveline gave him a sidelong glance. "No, I speak the truth. But for today, I'm willing to let you believe your story."

He heaved a sigh. "So how is Donnic?" he asked, eager to keep the conversation away from himself.

She smiled then, small and sweet. She always did when someone mentioned her husband. "He's doing quite well."

"I hope he's feeling better."

She rolled her eyes and her smile vanished. "Figures you would know."

Varric shrugged. "Of course I know. I was a part of the biggest military force in Thedas. We had all sorts of informants, and a spymaster that put me to shame. Honestly, if you thought I was good when I lived here, I promise you that's nothing compared to Nightingale."

“And I figured you were bad when you only _thought_ you knew everything.” Aveline sighed. "Donnic is doing much better. He has a nasty scar and some soreness in his leg when it rains, but other than that he's going to be fine. There were a few days we didn't think he would make it. I wanted to kill Sebastian. What was he thinking, invading the city like that? I always knew he was an ass, but even he had to know we weren't harboring Anders."

"Oh, he knew."

"I take it I should thank you for sending the extra forces?"

"You'd have to thank Curly for that." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry, Commander Cullen. It was his idea to help you out."

"But you whispered in his ear, didn't you?"

Varric grinned, but said nothing. Let her think it was him. The fact that Leliana wanted to help Choir Boy take over the city chafed his ass. He had once considered the Prince of Starkhaven a friend, but now? He hoped Sebastian choked on his self-righteousness.

They made their way through the city and talked about trivial matters: new recruits, the city's reconstruction, and how the alienage had improved over the years. Merrill had a hand in that, and Varric was pleased she'd found a place to belong.

Aveline made a sharp turn to the right when Varric had been sure she was going left. "Hey Aveline? I know I've been gone for a while, but isn't Hightown still that way?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

She smiled down at him. "Yes, but we're not going to Hightown."

They climbed another set of stairs and rounded a corner, and standing there was the best thing he'd seen all day other than the Guard Captain herself.

The Hanged Man.

Varric really was home.

***

Varric sighed as he sat at his desk. Nothing had changed in the two years he'd been gone. The chairs were exactly as he'd left them. His empty mug still sat on the corner of his desk. The sheets on the bed were clean and there wasn’t any dust, so he knew someone had been keeping the place up. It looked for all the world like he'd just left yesterday.

Aveline leaned on the doorframe. "You left a hefty stipend. The least I could do was keep the place ready for when you got back. I may have made use of it a time of two – official guard duties only," she said, knowing that Varric was going to say some smartass remark about using it for pleasure rather than business. "Other than that, it's remained empty."

"You went to a bit of trouble for that." Corff must have been furious that he couldn't rent out the best room in the place. "It wouldn't be sentimentality now, would it Captain?"

"Hardly. I just didn't want you asking to move in with me and Donnic."

"Perish the thought."

She was silent for just a bit too long, and he knew what was coming next. "Varric, we need to talk about –"

Yep, he was right. He cut her off with his hand. "Not now, okay? Please. I just got back. The last thing I want to do today is legal shit. Just…give me some time."

Aveline's features softened, and he knew he had her. "Okay, Varric. Take all the time you need. I can keep the vultures at bay."

"Are they circling?"

She folded her arms across her chest and shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle. It's been over a year now. I've gotten pretty good holding them back. And having Baltar around helps."

He hated to admit it, but he’d missed that silly mabari. Sure, he bitched every time he found another pair of shoes gnawed beyond repair - stupid dog only had a thing for dwarf shoes apparently - but he always had their backs in a fight. "And how's he doing? I assume you still have him chewing on recruits?"

She laughed. "I keep him on a steady diet of green soldiers who think they know better. Frankly, he's a better trainer than most humans." She pushed herself off the wall and unfolded her arms. "I should be getting back to the barracks. If there's anything you need, Varric, just say the word."

Varric nodded to her. "Thanks. You know…" He trailed off.

"Yes, I know." She turned and left without another word.

He shut the door behind her and looked around his room. Not one thing had changed. The furniture was exactly the same. He was sure that if he looked inside the top drawer of the desk he would find his spare set of reading glasses resting on top of a half completed manuscript of a thriller serial that he'd started but never got around to finishing. He supposed he never would now. How could he write when his inspiration was trapped in the Fade, forever out or reach to him?

He sighed and sat at the desk, looking at the table, paying special attention to the empty chair to the left of the fireplace. It was the chair Hawke would sit in anytime she visited.

Hawke.

_Shit_.

Nothing had changed, except everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut.

_**Bloomingtide, 9:37 Dragon** _

When the storm started, Varric knew he’d picked the perfect night to stay in his room.  He had a shit load of paperwork to do and his publisher was beyond pissed that he hadn’t turned out any new pages in weeks.  But when Hawke showed up pounding on his door, looking like a drowned nug from the rain, any thoughts he had of work fell by the wayside.  

"Please, Varric?  Don't make me beg."  Her eyes pleaded even more than her voice.

He grinned at her and leaned against the doorframe.  "You're already begging."

"Then don't make me beg more!"

A begging Hawke was just too precious a thing to have end.  He held up a hand.  "Just so I understand this, you want to hide in my room –"

She narrowed her eyes at him.  "Hide is such an ugly word."

"- because you lost a bet with Isabela, and now you don't want to pay up."

Hawke sighed.  "That's about the size of it."

Varric looked over his reading glasses at her.  "Out of pure curiosity, what was the bet?"

She rolled her eyes.  "She said she could make this poor guy come in his pants without ever touching him."

Varric barked a laugh.  "Why would you ever bet against her?  Especially when it's something like _that_?"

"Because who can do that?"

"She can, and I should have thought you would know that by now."

"I'm dangerously close to begging again, dwarf.  Don't make me."  

"Seeing as you lost, what do you have to do?"

If he didn't see it with his own eyes he never would have believed it, but she actually blushed.  "The same thing…to Knight Captain Cullen."  Varric laughed again.  "Now you know why I have to hide out?  If I try that shit, they'd lock me in the Circle faster than you can say 'blood mage.'"

"I'll give Rivani this: she's creative."

"And you know how she is.  In a couple hours she'll find a bottle of ale and a companion for the night and she'll forget all about this."

There was never any question in his mind that he was going to let her do exactly as she wanted, and knowing Hawke, she never had a doubt either.  Varric spread his arms wide and flashed her a smile.  "Alright, Hawke,” he said, laughing.  “You know I can't stand to see a human cry.  My suite is your suite."

"Varric, you are the best!"  She leaned dowed and wrapped her arms around his neck, and for the briefest of moments he could smell the soap she used in her hair.  The scent of roses and cloves once did nothing for him, yet in the past six years, the combination always brought Hawke to mind.  Usually that wasn’t a problem, but his thoughts about her had taken a less than gentlemanly turn of late, and that wasn’t something he’d been prepared for.  He never had a thing for humans, but this one was different.  

She bounded past him and made herself at home, taking up her normal place at the table to the left of the fireplace.  Baltar followed her in, sniffing at the floor.  Varric had learned years ago to hide all his shoes from the beast, so when he didn’t find anything to chew on, he gave a little whine and curled up next to the fire.

He closed the door and sat at his desk.  "I'd offer to play cards, but I have a few contracts and some business crap to take care of.  I keep putting these off every time you need me to follow your ass around."

"You love following my ass."

_Wasn't that the truth?_

Varric pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he had with hundreds of thoughts like it.  He'd done it so often in the past year that it had become second nature to him.  

"You know you don't have to entertain me," she said as she kicked off her boots.  "I can just sit here and look pretty."

_Can you look any other way?_

He shoved that thought away as well.  It was more difficult this time, as she had put her feet up on the table and crossed her ankles, giving him a perfect view of her too long legs.  Other ideas came to mind, images of his hands ghosting up her thighs, those legs wrapped around his waist, so much longer than dwarf legs, she could cross her ankles behind him and drive her heels into the small of his back...

He cleared his mind with a shake of his head and forced himself to focus on the contracts in front of him.  Contracts were boring, but they required attention.  It was a sure-fire way to stop thinking about a tumble with his best friend.

Hawke’s 'sitting and looking pretty' plan lasted less than five minutes.  "Okay, I lied.  I need something here."

He sighed.  "I'm going to break one of my hardest rules, but here."  He opened the second drawer of his desk and tossed a pile of vellum on the table.  "I never let anyone read a work in progress, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

She looked at the title.  " _Swords and Shields_?"

"My editor thinks I should branch out, try new genres.  She’s usually right, but I don’t know about this.  I’ve never had the knack for romance."

She looked like a kid on Feastday.  "You’re writing a romance?  This I’ve gotta read."  She tucked her feet up under her and thumbed to the first page.  "Wait until Merrill hears about this.  She's going to be so jealous."

Varric grinned.  "Don't be too hard on her."

"You know she's like a sister to me." She paused.  "Or a little lost kitten I took in."

He shook his head and returned his attention to the piles of papers in front of him.  Most of them required a simple read-through and a signature stating he approved the business that had already been carried out.  The first two contracts were easy, but after that, Hawke started humming as she read.  It was enough of a distraction that he had to read over the beet farm agreement three times while his thoughts went along the lines of _Holy shit, she's sitting right there and there's nothing I can do because she's not interested and we're just friends and we're going to stay that way and you're not going to screw up the best thing in your life so stop picturing her wearing only a smile you stupid nug humping dwarf!_

The ink on the sixth contract had just started drying when Hawke shrieked.  "Varric, you little shit!  Please tell me that’s not the end."

He smiled despite himself.  "Always leave the reader wanting more."

"The reader, sure.  But the poor Guard Captain?"  She stood up and walked over to him.  "She and the soldier are practically foaming at the mouth for each other, and you denied them!"

Varric took off his glasses and set them on the desk.  "You do realise that it’s only the first two chapters?  They can’t get all hot and bothered yet."

"I understand that there's something to be said for the slow burn, but these two are practically cold ashes.  They need to get to business. You need to get to business.  The people need their smut."

"There's plenty of smut."

"True, but the readers don't want to know about the side characters, and all that political intrigue is unnecessary.  This is a romance, not one of your crime serials.  They need you to do something about their mutual attraction."

He pushed his chair away from the desk so he could face her better.  Mutual attraction, is it?  This could be interesting.  "Okay, since you're the author now, tell me.  What's the guardsman's next move?"

Hawke leaned her ass against the desk.  "Why does it have to be his move?  Let the Guard Captain come to his office on some pretense."

"He doesn't have an office."

"Then give him one."  Her tone left no room for doubt; Varric would rewrite the first chapter and give the man an office.  "Like I said, she comes to see him."  She looked at her own stance.  Her face brightened and a smirk crossed her lips.  "Maybe she could lean against his desk in some seductive manner."

Varric swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.  Did she realise what she was doing to him?  No, she's trying to help the story.  She must be.  She's never once shown any interest in him.  Still, there was no need to let an opportunity like this go to waste.  Maybe, with just a little nudge on his part...  "He's intrigued.  He leans forward a little, not quite touching her, even though he wants to."

Hawke's eyes widened for an instant.  Maybe she didn't expect him to play along, but was she still acting? "The Guard Captain plays with her hair, makes it look innocent, but she knows the guardsman likes her hair.  She's caught him staring a couple times."  She mimicked her words, pushing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes.

It didn't matter to him if she were still acting; he wasn't stopping this little play now.  "He suddenly feels brave.  He can take her hand."  He did as he said, threading Hawke's fingers through his own.  "Thanks her for saving his life so many times."

"She thanks him as well.  She wouldn't be standing there if he didn't have her back."  She stood in front of him now; any closer and she would be in his lap.  "He's the best friend she's ever had," she whispered.  She reached out with her free hand and pushed hair away from his face.  Her fingers lingered on the shell of his ear.

Varric turned into her hand without taking his eyes away from hers.  They were both done writing, that much was certain.  She’d been the fodder of his imagination for years, and now she was here, this was happening.  It was his turn to be the kid on Feastday, getting exactly what he wanted.

She leaned forward, her face a breath away from his.  "Like I said.  Mutual attraction."

He didn’t know who moved first.  Maybe they leaned in at the same time, but logistics didn’t matter; the result was the same.  His eyes slid closed and Hawke was his whole world.  The kiss was nothing like the romance novels describe.  There was no parting of lips or battling of tongues.  It was sweeter than that.  Purer.  It told a story all its own - one of promise and hope.  It was everything a first kiss should be, yet rarely was.

Hawke pulled back first.  Varric opened his eyes to see brilliant blue staring back at him.  She bit her bottom lip; he knew she only did that when she was nervous.  He ran a thumb over her mouth, her gaze lowering to follow it.  “Hey, it was only a kiss,” he murmured.  “It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”  

She flicked her eyes up to his.  She knew exactly what he was doing - giving her an out.  A corner of her mouth turned up.  “And what if I want it to be more?”

He couldn’t have written a better opening if he’d tried.  He let go of her hand, held on to her hips, and pulled her to him.  She was caught off guard and fell into his lap, straddling his thighs.  “Anything you want,” he told her, his voice something between a whisper and a growl.

She giggled.  She actually _giggled_.  He was going to make some smartass comment about ruining the mood, but she leaned down to kiss him again and the words failed him.  She flicked her tongue over his lips, which he opened without hesitation.  Her tongue swept into his mouth, tasting like whiskey and smoke and ice all at once.  Her hands danced up his neck to cradle his face, her nails scratching into his stubble.  He moved his hand from her hip past her waist and cupped her breast through her shirt.  She moaned as he kneaded her and her hips rocked forward into his growing arousal.  “As comfortable as this chair is,” he breathed, “I think we need just a bit more room.”

Hawke said nothing.  She simply nodded, swallowed hard, and climbed off Varric’s lap; her eyes never left his as he grabbed his hands.  She drew him out of the chair and led him across the room.  By some miracle of Andraste, his knees didn’t buckle as they walked.  He wasn’t nervous - at least that’s what he told himself - it had just been so long since he’d been with anyone.  While his trips to the Blooming Rose were hardly a secret, the reasons behind them were mundane.  The workers there were a wealth of information, and if a couple hours spent talking to Lana meant that Blondie had a few extra supplies in his clinic, or he found out which new guard he had to pay to look the other way when Daisy went walking, it was worth the ribbing his friends gave him.  No need to mention that the only person to touch his cock in the last few years was himself.

Hawke sat on the edge of the mattress, still guiding him to her.  He stood over her; for once she was looking up at him, and Varric was determined to take full advantage.  He held her head in his hands, pulled her to him, bent his face down to hers, and kissed her hard.  Her breath hitched and for one awful fear-inducing moment, he was sure he’d gone too far, she wasn’t ready for all this.

He was ready to apologise, resigned to the fact that he was going to spend another night imagining what she would feel like, when he felt hands sliding up his waist and onto his chest.  She bit his bottom lip and Varric shuddered.  The apology died in his throat, no longer needed.  The only thing that would stop this was Hawke herself.  She reached down to pull his belt from his waist and before he knew what had happened, his tunic was lying in a heap on the floor.  He pulled back from her.  "You have me at a disadvantage."

She smirked at him.  "We can't have that, can we?" She backed up to the head of the bed and began unbuttoning her blouse, moving with an agonizing slowness from one button to the next.  She kept the fabric bunched over her chest so even when it was unfastened, he couldn't see anything.

"Oh, you are a cruel woman, Hawke."

"And don't you forget it," she said with a wink.

He couldn't help it.  He pounced on her.

She pulled her shirt off and let it pool at her waist.  Varric had caught glimpses of her before, mostly after battles when she needed healing.  But sitting bare before him, _for_ him, was something else entirely.  "Maker," he whispered.  "You're beautiful, Hawke."

She leaned back onto the headboard as Varric pressed kisses on her shoulder.  Her hand found its way onto his head, her fingers carding through his hair.  "Don't call me that," she muttered between laboured gasps.  "Say my name."

"Marian," he growled into her neck.  She was Hawke to everyone, and the name tasted strange on his tongue, like a new vintage of a favourite wine, and the way she sighed when he said it made sure she would intoxicate him.

"Again," she demanded.

He moved to her cheek.  "Marian," he whispered, licking the shell of her ear.

"Again!"  She pushed his hand to her breast.

He tweaked a nipple between his thumb and finger.  "Marian," he sighed before replacing his fingers with his mouth.  She sucked in a breath as his tongue laved over one nipple, then the other.  Her hands were on top of his head, pushing him lower down her body.  He kissed and nipped at her flesh, running his tongue over the more visible scars.  He paid special attention to the pale line on her belly that was a gift from the Arishok, as if he could heal the lingering hurt with just his tongue.   Memories of watching her fight alone came to him unbidden, and he made himself a vow that if he had anything to do with it, these scars were the last he would she would ever have.

He reached the waistband of her trousers and hooked his thumbs into it.  She lifted her hips to help remove the offending clothing, kicking off one leg, then the other, and let the pants fall wherever they may.

A sly grin crept across his face.  She wasn't wearing smalls – _happy nameday to me!_ – and she was slick with desire.  His first instinct was to bury his face into her and never come out.  Fortunately for her, he went with his second instinct, which said he had to tease her first.

So instead of plunging headfirst into her, he nipped at her thighs, taking care to linger over every kiss.  Her skin was so much softer than he ever imagined it would be.  His hand slid up to her hip before curling under to cup her bottom.  Kneeling between her legs, it took all the control he had to take his time with her.  "Damn it, Varric!" she groaned.  "Stop fucking around."

"If you want me to stop," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm as he pulled away from her, "all you had to do was ask."

She grabbed his head again.  "If you try to leave, I will pin you to this bed by your cock."

He winced at the threat, but she didn't seem to notice.  "That would be counterproductive, wouldn't it?  I mean, my cock has so many wonderful uses."

"Prove it," she said in her _special_ voice, usually reserved for the assholes who stood in her way.

He called her bluff.  "All in good time, my dear."  He bent down and tickled her folds with the barest flick of his tongue.  The smell of her was enough to make him dizzy, but the taste - sweet and tangy - went straight to his cock.  

Her breath hitched.  "More," she sighed, and Varric was happy to oblige.

He moved one hand from under her and teased her slit - hot and welcoming - with one finger.  He brushed the sensitive nub at the top of her sex and her hands grasped the bedsheets.

Varric wanted to draw it out even longer, but he couldn’t think of any reason to do so when she was right there, waiting for him.  He dipped his head between her legs and followed his finger with his tongue.

Varric would be the first to admit that when he wanted something, he would go for it, with one exception: he'd wanted Hawke for years and yet he never could bring himself to do anything about it.  But the noise she made when his tongue hit her – a sigh, moan, and scream all in one, and his name voiced in there somewhere – was something that he would give anything to hear every moment for the rest of his life.

Hawke's fingers danced through his hair, pushing him even closer to her heat.  "Please," she rasped.  Being the gentleman he was, he found he couldn't deny her any longer, and clamped his lips around her clit as he thrust his finger into her.

She clenched around him at once and her hips jerked in time to his thrusts.  A second finger was added to the first and she grasped at him, her hands desperate to find purchase anywhere they could.  She made strangled noises, occasionally voicing his name, or the Maker’s, or just the word _fuck_.  He was feeling quite proud of himself and laughed softly against Hawke.

The vibrations of his voice were the final piece of her puzzle.  She came with a scream, her hips lifting off the bed and hands screwing up the sheets beneath her.  Varric didn’t stop until she flopped back onto the bed with a thud, gulping for air.  She could stop everything now, his cock still rock-hard, and he wouldn’t have cared - it still would have been the best night he’d spent with any woman.  

He crawled up her, taking his time to kiss her as he’d done on the way down.  He covered her mouth with his, the taste of her kiss and her sex mingling, and he reveled in it.

Hands on his shoulders pushed him back.  "Varric," she said, her voice soft and breathy.  "On your back."

His response was immediate. He slid off her body and did as he was told.  ‘Following orders’ had taken on a whole new meaning; he’d figure out later how to follow her into battle without getting a raging hard-on every time she told him to do something.  Hawke fingers ran through the hair on his chest, while the other hand set to undoing his trousers, one lace at a time.  She took her time with it and slapped his own hand away when he tried to help her.  "All in good time, my dear," she mimicked with that sly grin of hers.  

With the laces finally undone, she began pulling his pants and smalls down together one tortuous inch at a time.  When his cock came free of its confinement, he panicked at what her reaction would be.  He wasn’t as long as a human, he knew that for a fact, but he did have thickness on his side.  Hawke paused, smirked and leaned down, and with one languid movement, licked the entire length, and his worries faded away.

Varric's heart pounded and the blood roared in his ears.  He moaned with want as her tongue left him.  They both knew she was teasing him; her wink as she finished undressing him confirmed it.  His pants were pulled off one leg at a time and tossed across the room.

Without any preamble, she scrambled up his body, threw one leg over his hips to straddle him, and sank onto him in one movement.  Years of fantasizing what this would be like, and he never did it justice.  It was bliss, and he would sacrifice everything he had to make it last forever.  She rocked her hips once and he nearly came undone on the spot.  His eyes clenched shut and he gasped at the blinding ecstasy of it all.  “Dammit, Marian.  You’re going to be the death of me.”

She responded by rocking her hips again, slowly, drawing out the pleasure until he was sure he would snap.  "But what a way to go, huh?"  

He forced himself to look at her.  If Hawke was going to fuck him into oblivion, he would go with his eyes open.

Her hand dipped to where their bodies met, rubbing and stroking her arousal.  Her movements gathered speed, her body rocking forward with increased ferocity.   Varric grasped at her hips and pulled her to him, matching her thrusts.  He wanted to draw it out as long as possible, feel her clench around his shaft, but she had other ideas.  She moved without abandon, eyes squeezed shut, determined to bring herself to another peak.

"Fuck, Varric."  Her throaty rasping was enough to put him over the edge.  He called out her name, roared it, as he spilled inside her.  The rest of the world could have ended right then and Varric wouldn't have cared at all.  His world was himself and the gorgeous creature on top of him.  

He shuddered as Hawke’s whimpering brought him back to his senses.  Hawke was watching him, still frantically rubbing herself.  Varric raised a hand to her breast, stroked it, then gave her nipple a playful but firm pinch.

Her back arched as she pulsed around his cock.  She cried out his name over and over until it became a prayer falling from her lips.  Watching her fall apart and come back together was everything he had always imagined it to be, and when she smirked at him, obviously pleased with herself, he knew he was done.  She was the only woman for him, no one else would ever compare.  He would want her for the rest of his days.

Hawke collapsed on top of him, breath heaving, her whole body shaking.  He pressed a kiss to her temple and curled his arm around her waist.  She rolled to his side, her hand stroking his face and chest.

Varric prided himself on his storytelling abilities.  He always knew which words went perfect together, never settling for less than precision.  But at that moment only one word came to mind.

"Wow."

She chuckled into his ear.  "Yeah, I think ‘wow’ just about covers it."

He took several deep breaths before speaking again.  "Wow."    

They lay next to each other, their bodies cooling, breathing returning to normal.  He had no idea what to say to her, so he let his hands talk for him.  He kept his touch light and reverent as he stroked every inch of skin he could find - her face, shoulders, the hard muscles of her stomach, the soft supple flesh of her breasts.

She grabbed his hand as he skimmed her cheek once more.  “It’s late.  I should go," she whispered.

“It’s late.  You could stay,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

She sighed and smiled.  “So tempting, but if I don’t get home soon, Bodhan will think I’m in trouble and rouse the entire guard to find me.”  She kissed his forehead.  “But next time, I’ll stay.  Promise.”

 _Next time.  There would be a next time._  The thought was almost enough to make him hard again.  He covered himself with a blanket while Hawke picked up her clothes and began dressing.  "It should be safe to go home.  Isabela has most likely given up on me by now."

Varric chuckled.  "Good luck with that one."

She buckled her boots with hands that Varric would have sworn were shaking, just a little.  "By the way, Orsino wants to see me in the morning.  Something about Meredith having gone too far, wanting to avoid bloodshed.  You know, the usual for him.  You up for it?"

He smiled at her.  "Wouldn't miss it."

"Great.  I'll swing by and pick you up on the way to the Gallows then.”  Her eyes met his, and the look they shared spoke volumes.  Everything between them had changed - for good or ill remained to be seen, but in that moment, it was welcome.  She bent down to kiss him one last time.  “See you in the morning."  She waved as she turned and left, Baltar yawning and padding along behind her.

"Good night, Hawke," he replied, but he was sure she didn't hear him.  He shook his head and ran his hands over his face.  So much for a boring evening of contracts.  What he needed now was a lot of ale and a very cold bath, but he knew neither was going to happen.  Sleep was going to take him, and he wished he could dream so he could be with his Marian again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...my very first smut ever. Be kind.


	3. Chapter 3

Varric’s publisher was a bastard who cared a hell of a lot more about results than the actual process.  Didn’t make him bad at his job, though.  It _did_ make him a demanding prick.  “You left the Inquisition’s Inner Circle more than two months ago,” he’d said over drinks the night before.  “The old you would have given me three new ideas and five chapters of the old ones by now.  How much did they fuck you up in Orlais?”

He gave the man the short, socially acceptable answer: he was fine, just a bit of writer’s block, it would be over in no time, and hey, let’s have another drink.  If it weren’t for the pity reflected in his publisher’s eyes, Varric thought he would have gotten away with it.

But the stories didn’t write themselves, as much as Varric liked to say that they did.  He stared at the vellum in front of him, pristine still, just waiting for ink.  It didn’t matter how long he sat there, the words hadn't come for over a year now, and they weren’t coming tonight.  He got up from his desk and paced, ran his fingers through his hair, and muttered a few curses to the Inquisition. The minute they were out of his mouth he knew it wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t the Inquisitor's fault he couldn’t write.  He was the one that couldn’t get a certain mage out of his mind; he was the one that couldn’t forget she wouldn’t be in his arms again, he wouldn’t taste her kiss; she would never come home.

He gave up.  The writing would have to wait.  He was going downstairs to drink the strongest stuff Corff had and stop when he couldn’t see any more.  It was a good plan with the added bonus of helping him forget her for a little while.

He ignored the voice in his head that said it was a stupid idea and it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.  He just had to stop thinking about her.

The Hanged Man was less crowded than normal, which meant it was either very early or very late.  The lack of blood, ale, or piss on the floor tipped the scale toward very early.  Corff stood behind the bar, as always, and handed Varric a bottle of West Hill Brandy without having been asked.  “Figured you’d need this,” he said without his usual sarcasm.

He never just gave Varric brandy.  It usually came with demands that he pay his tab and threats of raising the rent.  He narrowed his eyes at the bartender.  “Why?”  

Corff cocked his head to the left, indicating the guardsman that had walked up behind him.

"Varric, I need to speak to you."

Varric turned to his friend.  “Hey Donnic.  Care for a drink?”  A visit from the guard in the middle of the day usually mean bad news, but maybe he’d get lucky and it would be only a social call.

Donnic shook his head.  “No, and I don’t think you should either, at least not yet.”  He looked around the room of patrons, most of them already passed out drunk, and the ones that weren’t were well on their way.  “Can we speak in private?”

Varric looked at his bottle, then placed it back on the bar.  Not a social call then.  “Save this for me,” he said with a sigh.  “Let’s go.” He gestured to the stairs and followed Donnic to his room.

Donnic sat at the table and fidgeted with his fingers.  Varric leaned against his desk and braced himself for what was to come.  “I know this has something to do with Hawke,” he said.  “Might as well just tell me.”

Donnic took a deep breath before he began.  "Aveline, Maker bless her, won't bring this to you because she believes you should grieve in your own time.  She’s been doing everything she can to stop this from happening, but she’s run out of options.  You need to do something, and soon."

"About what?"  Varric folded his arms over his chest, ready for whatever bad news Donnic delivered.

"There is an Orlesian duke, Phillippe du Mer.  He has petitioned Bran to purchase the Hawke Estate."  His voice was matter-of-fact, but the sympathy in his eyes was plain to see.

Varric barked a laugh.  That’s what all this was about?  Some idiot trying to buy something that he was never going to sell?  "He can't buy it.  I own it, and I'm sure as hell not selling it, especially to some uppity duke."  Technically, the estate had passed to Carver, but he had no use for it in the Wardens, so he had graciously given it to the executor of Hawke’s will -namely, Varric himself.  That house, and everything in it, was all he had left of Hawke.  Getting rid of it was out of the question.

Donnic took a deep breath before explaining.  "That is true, you own the estate.  However, the duke is citing a hundred and fifty year old ordinance in order to get it.  I don't think it has been enforced since its writing, but it basically states that any property that has not been occupied for four consecutive years shall be considered abandoned, and therefore be subject to public sale."

Well, wasn’t that just wonderful news?  "Shit."

"As you say."

"And there's no way around it?"  Surely he could buy someone off?  Pay this duke to go back to Orlais and never come back.

Donnic shook his head.  "You could bring your case to Bran if you wished, but I don't see how you could win.  I'm afraid the regulation is on the Duke's side, and he is determined to own it."

Crap.  This wasn't good.  And he knew Donnic well enough to know that he wouldn't bring up the subject if wasn't pressing.  "Fine.  What are my options?"

"The way I see it, you have three choices.  One, you can sell the estate, contents and all, to Duke du Mer."

Varric didn’t have the heart to go through the place after he’d come back, and suddenly some pompous asshole was going to go pawing through her things?  "Not sodding likely."

Donnic chuckled.  "Didn't think so.  Option number two, you could rent it.  There are plenty of people that would pay a fortune to live in Hightown, and then pay extra to live in the Champion's home.  You would have a nice income."

He already had a 'nice income' from several of his business holdings.  The rent would be minimal, comparatively speaking.  "Not going to happen."

"Then I'm afraid the only thing you're left with is option three.  You have to move in yourself."

Varric knew from the start he was going to say that, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.  "Shit," he whispered, looking around the room that had been his home for more than fifteen years.  "I hate moving."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's just a short chapter. I promise it gets fun again.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Drakonis, 9:42 Dragon** _

Varric couldn't stop his leg from bouncing.  The Inquisitor was leaving for Adamant in the morning with Hawke, and she still hadn't decided who was going with her.  He sent a silent prayer to Andraste, the Maker, hell even the _Ancestors_ that he would be going along.  The thought of Hawke in yet another fight without him there was driving him mad.

He pulled a long drink from his tankard.  The Herald's Rest was more crowded than normal, though Varric figured it was warranted on the night before a mission as big as this one.  Nervous energy filled the common room, most patrons laughing just a bit too loud at bad jokes.

He sat alone at the bar, waiting for Hawke.  She'd been in conference with the Inquisitor and Warden Alistair ever since she'd arrived that morning.  Other than a ten minute conversation in the hallway, which was interrupted by the Inquisitor, they hadn't been alone in…Maker, had it been nearly five years since their one and only night together?   _She had promised a next time._  But then Blondie decided to blow up a Chantry, starting a war and sending them all scattering to the wind.

He and Hawke had kept in contact of course.  Once that little fact had been brought to light, he breathed a sigh of relief that the Seeker hadn't wanted to know the contents of their messages.  Coded letters had been sent when they weren't sure who would be intercepting them, but on the rare occasion they'd arranged a dead drop, his letters took on a decidedly more… _personal flair_.  He had described in detail every last thing he wanted to do to her body and what he wanted her to do to him.  The last one, written more than a year ago, featured Hawke's legs.  He never did find out how they felt wrapped around his waist.

Deep into his second ale, Varric wondered how much longer Hawke could take when a huge hand clapped him on the shoulder.  "Varric!" Iron Bull's deep voice rumbled.  "Come, join us!"

Perhaps company would be better than sitting alone thinking about Hawke.  He had Cabot top off his drink and followed Bull to the table in the back.

Several people waved in greeting as he wove his way to the back of the tavern.  It was odd; the Herald’s Rest had better beer, less dirt on the floors, and friendlier workers, but to Varric, the Hanged Man was superior in every way.  He knew everyone there.  Here, the faces blurred together and he could call only a handful by name.  It wasn’t the first time he’d longed for home since coming to Skyhold, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

It was a tight squeeze, but Varric managed to fit into an empty chair between Dalish and Grim.  Sera sat across from him, carving a crude drawing into the table littered with bottles of various drinks.  Bull took his place at the head, surrounded by the rest of his Chargers.  "Now where were we?" he asked.

Krem pointed at his chief.  "You were going to tell us about the twins in the kitchen."

A wicked smile broke out across Bull’s face.  "Oh yeah.  The twins."  He lingered on the last word.  "She had great tits, but his ass was something to behold."

Varric sighed.  So they were already at the sex stories part of the evening.  He resigned himself to listening to boasts of different conquests.  It may even make for some good additions to that damned Swords and Shields the Inquisitor wanted him to finish.

"What about you, Varric?"  Bull asked after a particularly long story from Stitches that involved a girl, her mother, and a ruined wedding.  Though it strained the realms of believability, it could make for a good book.  "Lace has been giving you looks, you know."

"Hey, yeah!  That's perfect, innit?"  Sera grinned at him.  "You two can have some dwarfy love story!"

Bull laughed, soft and low.    "Yeah, that would be good, but I think Varric has his eye on someone a little taller."

Varric whipped his head towards Bull.  Dirty letters aside, he and Hawke hadn’t been alone since he’d brought her to Skyhold.  Either he was off with the Inquisitor, or she was off with that Warden friend of hers. He needed her to himself for a while. “It's not like that," he explained.  "She's just…Hawke."  He stared into his cup, hoping it was explanation enough.  It wasn’t in his nature to kiss and tell.  Kiss and make up an epic tale about forbidden love that ended in tragedy, sure.  Besides, after everything that had happened to her, Hawke deserved any bit of privacy he could give her.

"Uh huh.  And you know that means precisely shit."   _Crap_.  Bull wasn't going to let it go.  

Sera cackled with glee.  "Hah!  The storyteller has a thing for Miss Champion Pants!"  

The table groaned in protest when Bull leaned in on his forearms.  "So, tell me Varric.  You ever thread her needle?"

The distance Varric spit his drink was truly impressive.  "I beg your pardon?"  He wiped the excess ale from his mouth with his sleeve.

"I take that as a yes," Bull replied with a smirk.  Varric shook his head and hoped there was some way to get himself out of this conversation.

Salvation came, as it so often did, with Hawke.  All eyes followed her as she walked into the tavern, her presence so much larger than life.  Varric heard a few giggles from around the table when Dalish stood up to offer her seat, but no one commented on the previous conversation, thank the Maker.

“Finally!”  Hawke squeezed into Dalish’s vacant seat next to him.  Their thighs touched and Varric’s breath hitched.  "I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there.”  She leaned over him for a bottle that was sitting on the table, her breasts pushing against his arm.  The smell of roses and cloves from her hair threatened to overwhelm him.  A sly glance from the corner of her eye told him all he needed to know: she was doing this to him on purpose.

“Has Inky decided?”  Sera was almost giddy.

“She has.”  She poured herself a glass of brandy.  "The dream team tomorrow consists of Bull, Cassandra, and," she turned to Varric raising her eyebrows, "I'm guessing you."

"Why are we just guessing?"  Guessing or not, relief washed over him.

She shrugged, but the smirk on her face spoke volumes.  "The Inquisitor said she wants Bianca at her back.  Didn't mention you per se."

Iron Bull roared with laughter and slammed his fist on the table.  "So I guess it doesn't matter who pulls your girlfriend's trigger!"

Varric laughed right along with him.  "Hey!  Bianca is a lady!  She doesn't let anyone pull her trigger but me."

“Oh, I don’t know," Hawke said, a little coy.  "I’ve pulled the trigger once or twice.”  Her eyes never left Varric.

_Hawke, you have no idea._

She took a sip of her brandy, let it sit in her mouth for a few seconds, then swallowed it with a disgusted look on her face.  "This stuff is awful.  It only beats the Hanged Man by a hair, and that's because it doesn't have any actual hair in it."  She looked into her glass.  “I think.”

"It's not so bad," he replied.  The moment it was out of his mouth he regretted it.  He knew better than to interrupt Hawke when she was working her magic.

"It's not so good, either,” she continued.  "And I know you, Varric.  You have a stash somewhere that you keep just for you.  Probably in your room, hidden in the false bottom of your trunk?"  It was actually in a locked box under the bed.  "And you are going to share it with your best friend, aren't you?"  Her arm slid around his shoulders and he grew dizzy.

Her voice had taken on a sing-song quality that was impossible to resist – which he wasn't inclined to do.  He backed his chair up and stood, begrudgingly shrugging off Hawke’s arm and saluting those gathered with his mug.  "Ladies, gentleman, I'm afraid you'll have to continue this little party without me."  He tried to sound nonchalant, but the soft giggles from those gathered proved that he'd failed miserably.  It didn't matter; he and Hawke were getting out of there. He finished his drink with one swallow and left the mug on the table.  

Sera opened her mouth, most likely to say something foul, but was silenced with a look from Bull.  "Rest well," he said.  "We have a long trip tomorrow."  He winked at Varric – at least he thought it was a wink, hard to tell with the eyepatch – and challenged the pouting Sera to a drinking contest.

Varric and Hawke would soon be forgotten, and that suited him just fine.  She followed him out of the tavern into the cool night air.  "Well, lead on.  I have absolutely no idea where your room is.  This place is too big for its own good."

Varric bowed to her.  "Of course, my Lady Hawke."  He toyed with the idea of holding out an arm to her, but decided against it.  His hands twitched to touch her, but there were too many people milling around.  A single touch would lead to so much more and he didn’t want an audience.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, her eyes hungry.  "Walk fast," she demanded in that voice that sent all the blood in his body directly to his cock.  After not hearing a command from her in so long, Varric was only to eager to obey.

His room was in an out of the way corridor of the hold that few people traveled down without purpose.  He unlocked the door, let Hawke in first, then shut it behind them.

The lock clicked and hands were on his shoulders, turning him around and pushing him back against the door. "Varric," she moaned.  It was all that needed to be said.  Hawke's lips covered his and her tongue swept into his mouth.  She tasted exactly as he remembered – the whiskey, the smoke, the ice, it was all there.   He grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her harder.  His lips may be bruised in the morning, but it would be worth it.

Hawke pulled back sighing.  "I've fucking missed you."

"What a coincidence," he panted.  "I've missed fucking you."

She giggled – fuck, that giggle was enough to put him over the edge – and reached into a pocket to pull out a piece of paper between two fingers - one of his letters. "Speaking of, I believe you were wondering something about my legs."  She backed up toward the bed, her free hand unbuckling her robe.  "I think it's time we sated your curiosity."

A little over an hour later, he knew that yes, Hawke's legs could wrap around his waist quite nicely, and yes, her heels digging into his back was an exquisite feeling, and yes, they were going to have to do that again.

"When you say again..." Hawke trailed off, the upturned corner of her mouth asking the rest of the question for her.  Her hand ghosted over his chest and down to his waist.

Varric caught her wrist before it travelled any lower.  "Flattered though I am, you have to remember that I'm also an old man.  You have to give me at least an hour.  And some food would be good, too."

Her hand moved back up to his chest and wrapped around him.  "Well I'm not leaving this bed, so I guess we'll just have to wait a while."  She nestled into the crook of his arm.

"I never would have pegged you for a cuddler." he said, curling an arm around her shoulder.  Not that he was complaining, of course.  Cuddling meant he could touch her all the more, and that was a plan he could get on board with.

She pulled her body even closer to his.  "Well then, Serah Tethras.  You have a lot to learn."

And learn he did.

The week to Adamant was full of lessons.  He learned that the members of the Inquisition were more discrete than he gave them credit for, because if anyone noticed him sharing a tent with Hawke, they kept it to themselves.  He found out that not only was Hawke a cuddler, she was also an unabashed blanket thief.   He learned that she had a ticklish spot behind her knees.  He discovered the fastest way to undress her was to let her do it herself – she had far better knowledge of unclasping that armour than he ever would, and watching her do it, he also learned, was a treat in and of itself.  He learned that if he curled his fingers just so inside her, she made a delicious squeal.  He learned that he loved the way her mouth opened into a perfect 'O' shape when he entered her.

And he learned that four simple words could not only break his heart, but shatter his soul.

_Hawke didn't make it._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm so sorry._


	5. Chapter 5

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

The weekly game of Wicked Grace moved from Friday to Tuesday, and the group was smaller now, but it still managed to bring a smile to Varric's face.  All the stuff of nightmares he had endured over the last decade melted away, and the friends he'd come to depend on remained.  Since returning to Kirkwall over six months ago, Aveline had become the sister he never had  and Donnic the brother he wished Bartrand would have been.  Merrill, Maker bless her, still retained her naïveté, and Varric world never stop checking up on her.

That particular Tuesday saw the four of them gathered around a table in the Hanged Man’s common room.  Varric wasn’t exactly fond of the lack of privacy his old room once afforded them, but since Corff demanded he give the room back, he had to manage. Despite being relegated to a cramped corner of the bar, there was more than enough room for them all. One chair, the one to Varric’s right, remained unoccupied, a silent testimony to their lost friend, to Hawke.

Merrill was winning for the first time,which surprised him.  Usually she was too busy paying attention to the people around them to care much about what was going in her hand.  Still, there was a small part of him that thought she knew exactly what she was doing, and was probably the best bluff of them all.  He’d just dealt himself an almost perfect hand - three angels and a knight - when a familiar voice called from the doorway.  "You’re going to deal us in, right?"

Isabela, pirate and self-proclaimed admiral, sauntered to the table like she owned the place – judging by the way people got out of her way and stared, perhaps she did.  Varric would have to check on that.  Close on her heels was Fenris, still looking broody, but perhaps with a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there a few years earlier.

Varric didn’t know where they’d come from, or how they’d managed to sneak into the city without any of his informant network finding out, but at that moment he couldn’t make himself care.  The last thing he expected was for them to stroll in, yet neither of them ever did anything in half measures.  He opened his arms wide and a genuine smile broke across his face.   "Naturally, Rivani!  The more, the merrier!"  

"You mean the more coin you can cheat us out of." Fenris tried his best to sound dour, but a slight smile gave him away.

Greetings were made around the table, with Merrill hugging Isabela within an inch of her life.  It took Aveline to physically pry her off the pirate.  Fenris simply nodded to everyone and murmured a hello.

“So, Admiral," Varric said with a flourish.  "I see you did get a big hat."

She ran a finger along the brim and grinned wickedly.   Five years hadn’t changed her at all, her smile and the twinkle in her eye as mischievous as ever.  "I like big hats, I cannot lie."

Varric’s laughter carried across the room.  "Ten silvers to play then."

Isabela threw ten sovereigns on the table.  “Let’s see how long this lasts, shall we?”  She pulled a chair over, turned it around so she could lean her arms on the back of it, and squeezed in between Donnic and Merrill.  Fenris looked at the empty chair, but made no move towards it.  Varric met his gaze and an unspoken understanding passed between them.  Fenris nodded once before finding a chair of his own and fit in between Merrill and Hawke’s place.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I played the Hero of Ferelden?” Isabela asked as she picked up her cards.

The groans from the table was a good enough answer.  “Only a hundred times, Isabela,” Donnic replied, rolling his eyes.

At least she didn’t look insulted.  There was a gleam in her eye though.  “Fine, but did I ever tell you about the game that came _after_ Wicked Grace?”

“What game was that?”  Merrill’s eyes were wide with innocent enthusiasm.

Isabela looked at her and chuckled softly.  “I think now would be about the time Hawke would interrupt with some crazy tale of her own.  Like the one about the fine dwarven pantaloons.”

Laughter broke out around the table.  Surprisingly, Aveline spoke first.  “What about the time Hawke found that Paragon’s toe?  The dwarf actually said he had paid a debt for it.  What kind of debt to you rake up over a toe?”

Varric took a last look at his near perfect hand and set his cards back on the table.  He had a suspicion he wouldn’t need them anymore.  “You obviously have never been to a meeting of the Merchant’s Guild.  I’m willing to bet he was disinherited over that!”

Varric was right - the card game was soon abandoned, the group fixated on different stories about Hawke: the time they fought blood mages on the Wounded Coast, the day the Carta sent assassins to her house to kill her, the time they killed a dragon in that blasted Bone Pit.  All the stories were familiar, each one having been told dozens of times before and had grown more impossible with each telling, but that didn’t matter.  The more stories they related, the more one truth became apparent to him: Varric had always thought that Hawke was the glue that kept their dysfunctional family together, and he was right.  Without her, he also had believed none of them would even speak to each other.  Yet here they all were, together again, just like old times.  He looked at Hawke’s empty chair, the ache in his chest a little diminished now.

After three hours of stories and too many warnings from Norah about keeping the noise down, Corff rang the bell for last call.   Varric stood and raised his mug in one last salute to their friend.   "Here's to Hawke," he toasted.  The party followed suit.  "May the Maker bless her."

"And all who sail in her!" Isabela added with a wink in his direction.  Donnic spit out his drink and she cackled in delight.  It would figure Isabela would know all about him and Hawke.  Not that he minded; he just needed to prepare himself for the inevitable taunting that was to come.

Only Varric noticed the hooded figure in the corner get up and start to the door.  He looked back and their eyes locked Before he drank from his mug, he gave the man a slight lift of it.  The man raised his hand in greeting and his eyes flashed blue before he turned and left the tavern.  “And may the Maker bless you, too,” he whispered.

***

Varric had lived in Hawke’s estate for more than four months, but walking home from the Hanged Man was still a new experience for him.  For so many years, home was the Hanged Man.  No matter how drunk he was or how late the hour had gotten, he could always crawl a few feet away and stumble into bed without much of a fuss.

Even after walking Merrill home, he had to climb up endless stairs - eighty seven, but he never counted - just to get to the front door, then even more stairs - thirty four, but he never counted - to crawl into bed.

He put his key in the lock and had it turned half way before he noticed the scratches in the plate.  Someone had tried to pick the lock, and did a piss poor job by the looks of it.  Five years, and no one had ever had the audacity to try and break into Hawke’s estate.  Other than the duke from a few months go, everyone had treated the house like some sort of shrine to the Champion of Kirkwall.  Varric took a few deep breaths to calm himself before examining it further.  They hadn't gotten in, he was sure of that; the new mechanisms he installed his first week in the estate were dwarven made, very expensive, and burglarproof.  Still, he figured he'd better check the back door, just in case the fool broke a pick in that lock.  It would cost a fortune to have it removed.

The wannabe thief was crouched in front of the door, lock picks in hand.  She – if the hands were any tell – was covered head to toe in black cloak with a scarf covering her face.  He watched her for a full minute.  She had some skill, that much was certain.  She fumbled, huffed in frustration, but kept right on trying.  Any other lock and she would be inside and have all the valuables cleared out in no time.

When she cut the palm of her left hand with the snake rake, he decided it was time to step in.  He unshouldered Bianca, but left the safety on.  He only wanted to scare her after all.

"Good evening friend.  I admire your enthusiasm, I really do.  But you have ten seconds to get away from my door before you get a bolt in the neck."

The figure turned and stood in a flash, pulling both her hood and scarf down around her neck, revealing short black hair and impossible blue eyes.

"Varric."

Bianca crashed to the ground.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Varric poured his guest a shot of whiskey.  He poured himself a double, thought better of it, and took several long swallows right out of the bottle.   It probably burned as it went down, but he didn’t feel it.

"Varric?"  she called from across the room.  "Are you okay?"

No, he wasn't.  Not even a little.  He had seen a lot of unbelievable shit in his life: dragons, reanimated corpses, holes in the sky that pissed out demons.  No matter what life threw at him, he managed to remain nonplussed.  But this?  This he couldn't handle.

On the surface, everything looked so normal.  A fire roared in the fireplace.  Bianca lay in her place of honour on the corner table.  Baltar slept at the foot of the chair.  And Hawke, looking exactly the same as she had over a year ago, sat in the middle of it all.

He handed her the drink without a word.  She took the glass with hands that seemed unnaturally calm.  “Please say something, Varric.”  

Varric looked at her, his mind numb.  What does a person say to a dead woman who had somehow come back to life?  But he learned long ago he couldn’t deny a pleading Hawke.  "How?"

Hawke downed the whiskey in one swallow.   "Yeah, that's the question, isn't it?”  She took a deep breath and held her glass out for a refill.  “And the answer is a bit complicated.  I remember fighting spiders.  So many damn spiders.  And I was so tired..."

***

Sleep.  Sleep would have been an exceptional idea.  Hawke could lie down, curl into a tight ball, and drift off.

She knew it wouldn't happen.  There was no sleep in the Fade.  

Blood, guts, gore, and a number of things she didn’t want to think about dripped off her as she trudged through the never ending labyrinth of the Fade.  Her precious staff that had been her constant companion for the last five years - the last thing she had from Kirkwall, her only reminder of home - now served as her walking stick.  She had no idea of the time she’d spent in the Fade so far - like sleep, time meant nothing.  There were moments when she felt like she’d just gotten there, and others when she knew it had been a lifetime.

Another spider crawled toward her.  She didn’t stop walking, didn’t bother using her staff; she simply held out her hand and released a fireball to torch the beast.  Her boots were already caked in the remnants of so many dead creatures that it wasn’t worth avoiding one more carcass.  “The Fade can get really predictable,” she muttered.

“That can be all too true.”

Hawke stopped walking.  A desire demon hovered before her.  Purple flames flickered from its horns and it was clothed in simple chains that did nothing to hide her feminine form.  Weariness washed over her.  “I don’t have time for this.”

A sickly smile broke out across the demon’s face.  “But I only want to help you.”

“Yeah, I know what your ‘help’ entails.  Make this easy on both of us and go back where you came from.”  Hawke pointed her staff at it, daring it to make a move.

“Now, Hawke.  I don’t want to fight,” it explained, its voice taking on a hypnotizing lilt.  “I just want to give you something.”

“No.”

“You may feel different after you sleep.”

Hawke’s vision blurred.  She blinked a few times, and when it became clear again, she was standing in her estate, in her bedroom, next to her bed.  Her stained robes melted away into the finery she used to wear.  It was so tempting to just lie down on the mattress and fall asleep.

“Nice try, demon,” she called out.  “I know this isn’t real.”

“But it could be, if you let it.”  The demon was no where to be seen, it’s voice seeming to come from everywhere.

She wanted to sleep, she couldn’t deny that.  But she could deny the demon with everything she had.  It wasn’t the first time she’d fought off a desire demon, though she’d never been this tired before.  “There is no way I’m letting you have me.”

"I don't want you.  I only want to give you everything you desire.”

“Mama!”

The voices carried through the closed door of her room.  “Kids?  Are you kidding me?  I’ve never wanted kids in my life!”

“Are you sure about that?” Hawke could hear the grin in the demon’s voice.

“Of course I’m sure -”

The door crashed open and two children bounded into the room.  A boy and a girl, neither of them much older than six.  There was something odd about them - they were the right height for their age, but perhaps stockier than they should be?  Dark curls bounced on the girl's head as she ran, a stark contrast to the boy's light hair. Both had matching honey coloured eyes. Hawke swallowed a gasp as she recognised those eyes; she had looked into them for years, had relied on them to watch her back.  She had fallen in love with those eyes, but she’d never told him...

The children came to a halt in front of her, the boy with a scowl on his face, the girl beaming from ear to ear.  “I picked this for you mama!”  The girl held up a purple flower.  A leaf was missing and a few of the petals were bent, a result of being crushed in her eager hand.

 _This isn’t real._ “Thank you, Bethany."  Hawke took the flower from her.  She knew her name, how was that possible?  “It’s lovely.”

The boy folded his arms over his chest.  “Papa said we were supposed to leave you alone today.  She’s going to get us in trouble.”

Hawke smiled at him.  “Malcolm, be nice to your sister.  Papa won’t mind.”

Her children.  The twins.  Bethany and Malcolm.  She knew them, remembered holding them as infants.  Bethany liked to squirm out of everyone’s arms, but Malcolm was content to nuzzle into Hawke’s chest at every opportunity.

“What won’t I mind?”

Hawke’s head whipped to the door and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.  Varric walked in, his fists on his hips.  “I thought I told you nugs to let your mom rest today?”  

It had been so long since she’d seen him, she almost ran over and jumped on him.  Then she remembered waking up with him that morning, her head resting on his chest.  He had placed small kisses on her forehead as he explained his arrangement for getting Merrill to take the kids out for the day.  He’d only gone downstairs to check on breakfast.  So why did she feel like they’d been apart for ages?

“I told Bethany not to come in,” Malcolm protested with a pout.  

Bethany looked like she was going to cry.  “Mama said it was okay.”

Varric made a show at being upset, hemming and hawing about how they never listened, but couldn’t keep it up long.  He beamed at the children and Hawke’s knees went weak.  They always did when she watched  the three of them together.  “Auntie Merrill is downstairs waiting.  You should both get going.”

Bethany squealed with delight.  Malcolm tried to suppress his excitement, but ended up running out of the room ahead of his sister.  Varric backed up enough to let them both pass.  “Have fun,” he called to them.  “And don’t do anything illegal!”

Of course Hawke knew them.  They were hers, and Varric’s.  They had just turned six a week ago.  It seemed like all of Kirkwall had shut down to celebrate their birthday and they had been showered with gifts from everyone they knew and more they didn’t.

“And now, Miss Vicountess.”  Varric sauntered up to her.  “We have an entire day to ourselves.”  He took her hands in his and lightly squeezed them.  Hawke breath hitched in her chest. It felt like she hadn’t been held in so long, but that couldn’t have been right. “Whatever are we going to do?”

Hawke sighed.  A day for just the two of them.  She had a nagging feeling she was forgetting something, but when she looked at Varric’s strong hands holding her own, the feeling faded away.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had a day off.  Probably long before she was named Vicountess.  “I know what I’d like to do,” she purred.  “Here’s a hint: your clothes don’t figure into the plan at all.”

Varric licked his lips.  “Oh, I like this plan so far.”

Hawke sighed as he let go of her hands and turned to shut the bedroom door.

_HAWKE, THIS IS NOT REAL._

The voice came from everywhere at once, and she knew it immediately.  “Anders?”

_JUSTICE._

Varric looked over his shoulder at her.  “Anders is probably at his clinic.  You’re not sick are you?”

Hawke shook her head and smiled at him.  “No, it’s nothing.”  Of course Anders was at his clinic.  Ever since he set up a place in Hightown next to the Chantry, it was a foregone conclusion that’s where you would find him.  He called it his penance for almost making a tragic mistake years ago, though she knew he enjoyed it.  “Though maybe we could have a family dinner tonight.  Isabela, Fenris, everyone.”

“I’d like that.”  Varric stopped at the wardrobe and shrugged off his tunic.  She would wait until he turned around to pounce on him and rake her fingers through that glorious chest hair.  “I’ll send Bodahn out later to round everyone up.”

_HAWKE, YOU MUST LISTEN TO ME._

The voice was getting louder.  Surely Varric could hear it?

 _YOU KNOW THIS TO BE AN ILLUSION.  THROW OFF THE SHACKLES OF FALSE MEMORY._  

What false memory?  She sat on the edge of her bed, utterly confused.  “Hey.”  Varric’s hand cupped her cheek.  “You doing okay?”

Hawke smiled and nodded as she leaned into his hand.  There was no illusion here.  This was her home, her life.  She remembered defeating the Arishok and being named Champion of Kirkwall.  She remembered exposing the injustices brought upon both mages and templars in the city, and as a reward she was named Vicountess.  She remembered the day Elthina had presided over the ceremony and placed that awful crown on her head; she remembered it being cold and heavy and poking her in the temple, and it was the first and last time she wore the damned thing.  She remembered her wedding day almost six months later.  She remembered the look of awe on Varric’s face when he saw her wedding gown - red velvet with gold brocade to match his favourite tunic.  She remembered how the colour drained from his face in panic when she told Varric she was with child.  She remembered the panic turning to pride on the day the twins were born.  

Every memory was crystal clear, the good and the bad.  The times spent with their friends, who had all put their differences aside and had become a large, happy extended family.  She even remembered the battles, with Varric and Bianca always at her side.

And then there were the spiders.

The memory jarred her.  It was different from the others, like watching it through a fog.  

_FOCUS, HAWKE._

It was an important moment, though she couldn’t remember why.  There were spiders, she knew that much.  She hated those things.  Then someone important, and a decision had to be made.  Someone had to stay behind to the others could survive.

_Say goodbye to Varric for me._

Hawke gasped.  Varric stood in front of her, his brow wrinkled.  “Marian, you’re worrying me.”

She looked around her room.  None of it was real.  She wasn’t the Vicountess, she wasn’t married to Varric, and she wasn’t a mother.  Elthina was dead, killed by Anders.  Hawke was trapped in the Fade, this was all some desire demon’s construct to keep her there.

“This isn’t real,” she murmured.

Varric - the illusion of him - flashed her a warm smile.  His voice sang to her.  “Of course it is, Sweetheart.  Isn’t this all you ever wanted?”  

Was it?  For a few brief moments, she was happy.  She hadn’t felt like that in such a long time,and the desire to stay was overwhelming.  She ran a hand down Varric’s bare chest.  It felt so good, so warm, the soft hair tickling her fingers, his heartbeat thrumming through skin.  “I do want this,” she whispered and looked into his eyes.  “But I want it to be real.”

Without warning, she let a bolt of electricity flow down her arm and out her fingertips.  Varric’s face contorted in pain, and though Hawke knew it was an illusion, she couldn’t watch her love turn into ashes.  She closed her eyes and turned her head until his scream stopped.  The vision of her estate faded, and she was left standing in the Fade again, still in her worn and ripped robes.  The only difference was off in the distance, she couldn’t tell how far, was a blue light.  She set her staff into the ground and started walking toward it.

“All right, Anders,” she sighed.  “Get me home.”

****

Hawke had said the answer was a _bit_ complicated.  That had been a _bit_ of an understatement.

Varric clutched the empty glass in his hand until he thought it would shatter.  The bottle of whiskey had been emptied about halfway through Hawke’s story, but he wasn’t going to stop her so he could get another from the other room.  Her tale captivated him.  He couldn’t have come up with a better story if he’d had a hundred years to try.  The thought of Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and all around badass mage, wanting a simple life, and children, with _him_?   It would have been a good life.

Hawke cleared her throat and continued.  “I eventually found a green light that looked just like the rift that you left through, so I took a chance.  What did I have to lose?  Just closed my eyes and jumped.  When I opened them, I was out of the Fade and just north of the Fallow Mire.  Had a couple beasties follow me out, but I took care of them, then set off for Skyhold.   

"I didn’t want attention, because look what happened the last time someone fell out of the Fade."  He had to admit she had a point.  “But do you have any idea how hard it was avoiding Inquisition soldiers?  They're everywhere.  So I stayed out of populated areas for the most part.  After a week, I stopped at a pub in the Hinterlands called the Broken Arrow."  Varric knew the place.  Small, dirty, and no one asked questions.  "I found out Corypheus had been defeated, I had been dead over a year, and you had gone back to Kirkwall.  So I changed direction, hopped a ship at West Hill, and headed here."

No wonder Anders had been in the city. He knew Hawke was on her way and was probably following her.  Varric wished he’d known that earlier.  Wanted criminal or not, he would have bought the man enough ale to keep him drunk for a year.

"I'm rambling.  Please, Varric.  Say something."

He reached a shaking hand out to her face.  He half expected her to vanish, a hallucination he'd conjured.  But warmth met his fingertips.   She leaned into it, pressing her cheek to his palm.  She was here.

"You're real."

She chuckled.  It was the first time he’d heard her laugh in over a year, and it sounded like music.  "Yes, I'm real.  And I promise I'm not a desire demon.  Although, I suppose that's what a desire demon would –"

He didn't let her speak another word.  He didn't give a shit if she was a desire demon.  All he could do was wrap his hand around the back of her neck and pull her to him.  Everything was lost in a blur of mouths and tongues and hands desperately clinging to each other.  Somehow she ended up kneeling on the floor, arms wrapped tight around his back.  He peppered her face and neck with kisses, promising that he was never letting her out of his sight again.  She responded with breathy yesses and vows to never again leave his side.

And between kisses, he put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, "I love you."

She froze at that. Neither one of them had said it before, they never wrote it in their letters.  They pulled apart, eyes locked on each other.  Two years earlier, and Varric would have panicked at the words and made up a convincing lie about how it was all a joke just to get her attention.  But after the forced separations and her apparent death, all that mattered was the truth of how he felt.   

And now, with the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen on Hawke’s lips, he knew exactly what she was going to say.  "Oh, Varric," she breathed.  "I love you too."

Varric been back in Kirkwall for just over six months, but standing there, wrapped in Hawke’s arms, he finally felt like he was home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. Or something like that.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely skybound2 for the fantastic prompts. You see, I got three prompts, and instead of sticking to one, I took bits and pieces of all of them. I really, really, really hope you like this. I had such fun writing it.
> 
> Many wonderful thanks again to my beta thievinghippo for all her hard work. This wouldn't have been half as good without her. I think I've thanked her about seven hundred times, and I'll continue to do so.


End file.
